


arranged

by freakedelic



Series: NonconWhumpKinktober 2020 [9]
Category: DCU (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Alien Biology, Alternate Universe - Cults, Candles, Demons, Drugs, Forced Feminization, Forced Marriage, M/M, Sex Fake Out, The Pit (TM), psychedelics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:20:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26705143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freakedelic/pseuds/freakedelic
Summary: “The Bride,” they chant. “The Bride, the Bride, the Bride.”That explains the dress they put him in.
Relationships: Tim Drake/Ra's al Ghul
Series: NonconWhumpKinktober 2020 [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1917016
Comments: 11
Kudos: 68





	arranged

**Author's Note:**

> marital rape for noncontober day 9, ritual sacrifice for whumptober day 9. hehe.

Tim throws up all over the floor. It smears the front of his dress, turning the white a sickly green color. One of the acolytes hisses and produces a towel from nowhere to scrub roughly at it as they tug him relentlessly along. They’d given him some kind of drug, in a tab under his tongue, and he can feel it making him foggy and uncoordinated. There’s no chance of escape until it wears off, his best bet is to throw up again, but his hands aren’t free to stick fingers down his throat.

Tim stumbles into another darkened room. This one is lit only by a strange green light as the door slams shut behind him. He waits to be shoved forward again by so many grasping hands but he only crashes into something stone at waist-height. A pale face shines out of the darkness. Tim yells in surprise, trying to backpedal, but people crowd him in from all sides.

“The Bride,” they chant. “The Bride, the Bride, the Bride.”

That explains the dress they put him in.

“You are the Bride of the Demon,” the cultist in front of him intones. His eyes start to glow. Tim can’t stare directly into them or his head starts to pound like a war drum. What did they dose him with? If he had to guess, he’d say some kind of psychedelic, but this isn’t any kind of drug he’s been exposed before. “You are the Chosen.”

Oh, boy. Tim does _not_ want to be the chosen anything. He tries to pick his way out of the chains behind his back, head tilted, trying to focus through the shapes he’s starting to see in the green smoke.

Candles are pushed forward onto the stone altar. They cast little light, burning a sickly green with a scent that makes Tim’s head swim. Maybe he’ll get lucky and pass out from smoke inhalation before this ritual is over.

“You have been brought here today to be given the highest honor the Demon bestows,” the cultist in front of him intones. Tim’s hands around unbound behind him as people grab his wrists and force him to the front of him. The—priest?—grabs them, laying them flat against the cold stone. He speaks in a language that Tim can’t understand or even place, muttering to himself. A ring set with an emerald stone is shoved onto his left hand. A heavy bracelet is shoved on his right hand. “You are a Bride, now promised.”

“The promised Bride,” they chant, louder. “The promised Bride. The promised Bride.”

Something burns his hand. Tim yells in pain, trying to pull it away as he stares down. It’s over before it’s truly begun, a small red burn pressed into the flesh on the back of his hand between thumb and forefinger. When he looks back, someone is affixing the bracelet on his other hand to the altar.

Tim yells, trying to pull away, but it’s too late. The priest is leaving him. Hands press up against his back, pushing and lifting, shoving him onto the altar and over it. Tim yells again as a muscle in his arms twists.

“The Bride,” they say. “The Bride.”

It’s further away now. Tim looks down to see that his feet are sunk into a glowing pool. The tide flows around his body. It seems so much deeper when he looks into it. There’s so much more to those depths, dark around him. Tim tries to step forward but the chain stops him. His left hand hurts. The ring seems to bite into him, burning.

Something looks back from those depths.

Tim takes a step back with a choked cry, sprawling into the shallow pool. A hand grabs onto his wrist. It’s impossible. The pool isn’t that deep. But it pulls itself up—a man, naked, towering unnaturally over Tim. His eyes glow green. His body is young and muscular but his hair is streaked with white.

“Ra’s al Ghul,” they chant. “Ra’s al Ghul.”

 _The Head of the Demon_.

“What the fuck,” Tim breathes. This can’t be real. They have to have drugged him on _something_.

The man takes his hand, pulling Tim up onto his feet. He’s just as warm as any real person, but unnaturally tall. Tim has to bend his neck back to look at him.

“Timothy Drake,” he murmurs.

They don’t know his name. They only know him as Red Robin. This _has_ to be a hallucination.

“I am not a figment of your imagination,” the Demon says. He tilts his head, Tim’s hand still in his. “I am Ra’s al Ghul, the Demon’s Head, and you are my Bride.”

Tim breathes in and out. All he get is the hazy fumes from the green water. Magic might exist, he knows that, but _demons_? For fuck’s sake, how did he get into this?

“You were chosen,” Ra’s murmurs. His breath is warm against Tim’s ear. Tim feels, very strongly, that something is wrong.

“Why?” Tim asks, dreading the answer.

Fingers trace his cheek. Tim feels claws inches from piercing the skin. “I have watched you find us, Timothy. Find me.”

Tim remembers pulling out old scrolls to find the origins of the Assassins, finding pictures drawn hundreds of years ago of the monster that they worshipped. The thing in front of him is almost similar, with the bright snake-slit eyes and canines. He’d used it to track them down and disrupt their movements, but . . .

“You were brilliant, of course,” the Demons says. “Brilliant and beautiful. Worthy of a Bride.” He smiles. It would almost seem . . . _nice_. . . if not for the sharp teeth it shows off.

“I’m a _boy_ ,” Tim tells him. He has to have known that.

The Demons laughs softly. “Inconsequential to one such as myself.”

Tim tries to work his hand through the chain again. It hurts, but he’s starting to think that it might be the least of his problems.

“It is our wedding night, my Bride,” the Demons murmurs. Tim watches as his fingers rise to the man’s lips, pressed against them in a chaste kiss. “It is time for our consummation.”

Tim ducks, trying to pull his hand through the chain. Hands dig into his wrists before he knows what is happening, stone digging into the small of his back as he’s forced to bend back over it.

“I’m not your fucking bride,” Tim hisses. The Demon smiles down at him. For the first time Tim can see the sharp canines that give away his true nature. He’s glad he can’t see the erection that is certainly below his line of vision.

“We were just married, Beloved,” the Demon hums.

“Go to hell,” Tim snarls. He tries to ignore the panic building in him. This man cannot be real. This can’t be happening. This is some kind of sick LSD-marijuana induced fever dream.

“But I just arrived,” the Demon laughs. Tim feels claws on his thighs. He kicks, but his thigh is caught in an unstoppable grip. Claws dig into him, cutting through his clothes as they drag down his legs. Something bobs in front of him and he realizes with a sick sinking in his stomach that the dark, bulbous thing is the Demon’s . . .

 _Penis_.

No. Absolutely not. Fuck this. Tim dislocates his thumb and yanks his hand through the chain. If this is a hallucination, he has some deep Freudian issues. A clawed hand closes around his neck.

“No,” the Demon tells him simply.

The pain when he is speared open is not imaginary.


End file.
